Crash
by Fadingsilverstar16
Summary: Kink Me Merlin de-anon. Gwen and Lance have a roll in the hay.


Oh, Lord. Figures that this show would hit my muse upside the head and make me crank out oneshot like this. Hopefully I've gotten better in the past eternity that I haven't spent writing. xD

**Disclaimer**:_ Merlin_ belongs to the BBC.

**Word Count:** Approx. 1,623

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><p><em>Crash<em>

It wasn't that Gwen didn't know what sex was, or hadn't ever had low, giggling conversations about the scandalous adventures of the kitchen maids, or hadn't ever had her hand sneak below on nights when her bed was cold and stiff and she was too awake and she had to do _something_ to tire herself out. It wasn't even that she had never _seen_ a person lost in passion. There was one time in the dead of night, when she had slept in Morgana's antechamber because her nightmares were at their worst, that she'd heard a strangled, badly concealed moan from the other room and rushed in to find her lady in a situation that would have Gwen copying her every night for a week.

It wasn't those things at all, not to mention the many more whispered words and impure thoughts better left locked away in some dusty corner of her mind.

It was just... the big realization – or better yet, reminder – that she had never actually _done_ _it_ came crashing down like falling rocks just as Lancelot's lips crashed down on her neck and the blushing teenage girl inside tittered that she had never been kissed there before.

Later, she'd blame her embarrassing squeak on the fact that the whole thing had started as a conversation.

The sun had been due to set early today, but Merlin still had two hours left in the stocks, so Lancelot, saint that he was, had offered up himself to brush Arthur's horse along with his own like Merlin had been ordered to do before he'd gotten himself into trouble somehow. Surely one task completed for Merlin out of the thousand others given might keep the Crown Princess from having another hissy fit for a while and give said manservant a good five minutes of rest, he'd joked at her as she'd passed by. Startled (because really, that was more something _Gwaine_ would say), she'd laughed and laughed and they'd gone from there, both pleasantly tired and free from obligations for the evening.

They'd fallen into that conversation almost too easily. A simple, light-hearted conversation that anyone could have with anyone else. About metal and swords and Camelot's best sharpening stone merchants or something, Gwen's barely functioning brain helpfully supplied. Whatever the exact topic had been, it had been innocent and normal and _definitely not this_.

Well, alright, there had been flirting, and it hadn't taken them very long to go from shy to shameless, but that had been five minutes at the most before they had found themselves laughing into each other's mouths, slow smiling and lazy and the complete opposite of how they were now. The transition from him leaning against the back wall of the stable building plus her standing an appropriate distance away to both of them on the fresh, unused hay below was even quicker.

But even then, there'd been a sense of innocence to it all, of fun, and a fluffy sensation in her gut, tingling down below, and a warm, hazy feeling of utter bliss and safety because this was _Lancelot. _So when _that_ happened, when he did break away from her lips to kiss her neck, right above her hammering pulse point, she opened her mouth and made that humiliating noise but that was it. She didn't pull away, her hands never left his back, she didn't shift so the ends of his hair weren't brushing against her fingers anymore.

Versus all of that, her verbal slip-up should have meant nothing because she was of age and knew what this was going to become and she was absolutely not nervous in any way. His chest pushing into hers as he'd gone for her throat had forced a sound out, that was all.

Yet and still, his sweaty, sword-calloused hands went still on her hips and he looked up and oh, she had screwed it all up. He thought she didn't want this. He was going to roll over and they would lie in the hay staring up at the stars in silence until one of them found the courage to end it and walk away and this would never happen again.

And for some reason, the very thought was enough to made her eyes sting and her eyebrows furrow and all at once, it became her mission to keep that suddenly horrible scenario from coming true. With all the fervor and determination she imagined a common whore would have, she dug her nails into his back and tried to haul him up to her, going cold when he held fast.

They looked at each other for a long moment before his face went from neutral to so warm it made her heart hurt, but some childish part of Gwen felt like pouting back when she caught the tiny hint of amusement in his eyes. How dare he know her so well.

"You're amazing, Gwen," he said, sounding just the right amount of genuine, but it took all but a second for her resulting embarrassment to turn to boldness (like his words were a challenge and she needed to live up to them and just from that look she knew he'd done this before) and she tugged at him again.

"Kiss me," she demanded, not wanting to give either of them time to think.

He did, oh lords he did, still smiling and sweet, just slowly leaning in and kissing her forehead and pausing, as if they were both frozen in time while the world spun and crumbled in Gwen's mind. Her eyes stung worse, her mouth dried out, his hands tightened on her just a little but mostly they just lay there and breathed, suddenly needing to preserve this moment in their minds forever. If his object was to get her to relax, she was almost ashamed to admit to herself how well it worked, feeling the tension leave her body but still stuck in this state of raw happiness that she knew wouldn't leave for a long, long time.

Eyes closed, they lost themselves in slow writhing for a good ten minutes after that, not quite the perfect dance of true love that Gwen had literally dreamed about as an imaginative fourteen year old but not like animals, either. When Lancelot moved to nibble at her earlobe and his fingers flitted around the ends of her dress, already hiked up to the knees from their wrestling, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes. The stars glinted above them, and for a fleeting second she remembered that they might be found like this, that people would definitely whisper about them, that someone might be looking for them, but then _something_ pressed hot and firm against her leg and Lancelot sucked his own finger into his mouth, making that trend of thought wink right out of existence.

They kept most of their clothes in place (even though they'd be soaked through later), just in case they needed to make a quick, breathless getaway holding hands like children in a field, but after fondling gave into rutting and that gave way to_ two_ wet, sticky, powerful ends on their thighs and hands Gwen promised herself that one day there would be more. They'd _do it_ even slower than this. She'd show him her breasts and let him lick at her and she'd do the same for him not just on cold nights like this, or when they were lonely or sad, but all the time. She'd repay him for holding still at first breach to let most of the pain and discomfort ebb away as they'd started fifty times over and then more than that.

Long minutes passed between them and Gwen waited for the high to fade and for the shame to set in. After all, she had just lost her virginity _in a stack of hay_ and surely proper ladies would much prefer velvet pillows and wine to the smell of sweat and earth and constant, awkward readjusting.

But it never did. For some reason, this was fine. Wonderful, even, she decided while Lancelot gingerly rolled her dress down, brushing straw off her skin along the way.

"Do you feel any different?" he asked. She shifted a bit in thought, hissing at the lingering soreness in her lower half and back that Lancelot would massage away later.

"I'd be worried if I felt _too_ different," she admitted. Gwen had never been one to demand what others might see as perfection – Camelot had its nobles for that. This was like a simple campfire compared to the roaring hearth that the future would bring, but what mattered was the warmth itself and the love she felt and Lancelot's arms curled tight around her as Camelot slowly fell to sleep around them. They could be hopeless romantics together in a fine bed, or surrounded by hay, or in the middle of the day in a forest, or by a lake, or anywhere as long as Lancelot was still himself and Gwen was still herself.

And from the accepting look he gave her just then, she knew he agreed. This was another part of their relationship, now. It wasn't the whole point, of course, even when he made her whimper and she was silently proud herself for every groan she got out of him, but _still_.

After a bit, they untangled themselves and stood to face the rest of the world, and the first thing the world greeted them with was a gust of wind that blew Gwen's tangled hair over her face. When it passed and Lancelot moved her curls out of the way just to kiss her on the neck again, she just smiled.

_Fin_

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><p>Thanks for reading! 3<p> 


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